Miss Rosalind, defrauded in one day of her two allies, sulked in a dignified way in her own room, and visited her displeasure with the world in general on poor Jill, who consoled herself by beginning a letter to her "dear Mr Armstrong." Tom, having wandered joyously over the whole house, making friends with everybody and admiring everything, was engaged in the feverish occupation of trying to find his stamp album, which he had left behind in India.
The only serene member of the party was Captain Oliphant, who in the arm-chair of the library smoked an excellent cigar and ruminated on things at large.
"Poor lad!" said he to himself, "great pity he's so delicate.

Not at all a pleasant cough--quite a churchyard tone about it.

Tut! tut! I'm not favourably impressed with that doctor; an officious bumpkin, he seems to me.

And this Armstrong--I should really like to know a little more about him.

Pottinger was decidedly of my way of thinking.